


The Beginnings of Despair

by d20eater



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gen, Self Harm, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 23:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7483968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d20eater/pseuds/d20eater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This work is heavily based on a DR MEP to the song 'Sippy Cup' by Melanie Martinez.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Beginnings of Despair

**Author's Note:**

> This work is heavily based on a DR MEP to the song 'Sippy Cup' by Melanie Martinez.

Mahiru pressed the hands to her throat, leaning over the trash can of the public bathroom. Her mother had told her she looked a little bigger, and she'd panicked and excused herself. She'd barricaded the door and was already throwing up by the time anyone tried to move the barricade. She retched, and vomited multiple times, before turning to look in the mirror. She tried to smile, but her teeth were beginning to melt away, and her throat was so raw she could hardly speak.

_You're still fat._ Her mind nagged her.  _You need to take more pills, or you're worthless._

She reached into her bag, and pulled out a noose. She placed the trash can on its side so she could climb up on it, she tied it around the bar above the door. She stepped off.

Her conscious was hazy by the time the barricade was broken. They cut her down and removed the rope. She wheezed and gasped for air and tried to push them off before they saw under her clothes. They forced her down and a woman knelt by her, kissing her forehead and crying as she cradled her. That woman was her mother, who had no idea what was wrong with her daughter.

Ambulance crew arrived swiftly, and whisked her away to a hospital, fresh bruises blossoming on her throat, and cuts still bleeding on her wrists and thighs. faint scars hidden by make up on her face.

She lay in her hospital bed and prayed, prayed that she could get better.

But there was only one thing she felt settling in.

Despair.

 

Hiyoko opened another bag of candies. She winced, hearing the slaps which her father dealt to her mother. She heard the slaps she gave back. Her father came into her room, and beat her too, and her mother watched and cried. He dragged her mother back outside, and left Hiyoko crying. 

Maybe if she ate enough sugar it would take away the pain.

It would sweeten the pain, surely.

She pulled herself into the bathroom and locked the door. Pain hit her mouth and she looked into the mirror. Another tooth hanging on by just a thread, her last good tooth. The rest of her mouth was a rotted, black mess. Unable to be fixed, unable to be salvaged.

She was a monster. It was probably better all her teeth just fell out. They were going to do that anyway. 

Her father broke down the door, he choked her. He punched out the bad teeth, and the good.

Hiyoko cried more, and thanked him for saving her. He only got angrier.

He beat her more, so much she fell unconscious, and he put her to bed. He kissed her and cried, she was his daughter.

When she woke she felt nothing but one emotion.

Despair.

 

Mukuro woke from yet another surgery.  _What was it this time?_ She asked the nurse.

_Butt and boobs._

She felt numb. Her parents wanted her to look exactly like her sister, they wouldn't give her silicone either, they insisted she have soft implants under her skin. She had to be the perfect twin for her perfect sister, her sister who had everything.

Boys, money, fame, you name it, she had it.

Mukuro got none of it. Mukuro was the ugly twin, the hated twin. The accident.

She cried herself to sleep that night. The next day, when her parents came to collect her, they said nothing. They strapped her arms to a chair when they got home. They shaved her head and glued a wig to her head. The glue was burning hot and singed, melding with her skin. They didn't care when she screamed.

The wig was one identical to her sister's. They used fake skin to meld it to her head convincingly.

She kicked her mother, she kicked her father. She hated them.

When she looked in the mirror she didn't see Mukuro. She saw Junko. She cried herself to sleep that night too.

She was full of one thing. Despair.

 

Peko grimaced as she was forced through yet another lesson on posture and weaponry. She took a few slashes with the sword and her arms screamed out in agony. Her legs gave way and she fell to the floor, the sword plunging through her. The wound wasn't fatal, and her punishment was being told she was weak and pathetic. 

She was taken to the emergency room. Miraculously, no serious damage. She almost wished there had been.

As soon as she had healed she was pushed too far again, and this time, the sword cut into her lung.

An operation to fix it later, and she was recovering. She wished they hadn't fixed it.

She couldn't live like her friends could. Not that she had any real ones, all of hers were imaginary. She wanted to please her young master while being allowed to live life like a real girl.

Her parents wouldn't have that.

Every day after school it was the strict regime, and every day she collapsed, and some days she cut herself badly.

They didn't see the mental side of it.

Her thighs were littered with scars, her stomach was a maze of gashes.

She hated herself.

Words carved into flesh. 

_Pathetic. Worthless._

And everything else her parents called her.

She sat in front of the mirror, tears streaming down her face. She brought the sword to her hair, cut off her pigtails, plunged the sword into her leg and then started to run.

She needed an excuse to seek help. To escape. She couldn't deal with the pressure any longer.

When she had reached the hospital she collapsed. They only called her parents even after she begged them not to.

Who even was she any more, aside from a pawn for them to play around with and use? She cried as she thought of that.

Her chest was weighed down with despair.

 

The knife slid across Tsumiki's wrist in a familiar rhythm.

Left to right, up and down the arm. Missing the veins, missing the arteries deliberately but numbing herself from her mental pain.

The door opened and in stumbled a woman, two men hooked to her arms. One of the men noticed her and wobbled a drunken path to her side. 

Her mother was always too drunk to see the blood on her daughter's arms.

Mikan cried as the man grabbed her, but lost interest fairly quickly, and tottered after her mother. Mikan took the blade, and this time she dragged it down her arm the other way, from top to bottom. She wrapped her arm in scraps of cloth washed and washed after she cut, and she wrapped her arm in bandages.

Her mother never questioned it.

She packed her stuff and left. She didn't have much anyway. Her mother didn't love her enough.

She lived on the streets. She starved for days before the authorities took her in.

She was overcome with despair and cried as she was taken to a hospital.

 

A young musician hung from the bars at her concert venue. She strung herself up in front of thousands and the rest of her band, a desperate plea for help. A young man had saved her, and had told her parents what happened. 

She'd been put on medication and the two ended up keeping in contact.

She liked to relieve him by waking up every day.

He had always told her she was his favourite, he encouraged her to seek out a solo career.

Then, she lost him. Her parents forbid her from speaking to him and forced her to practice and compose whenever it suited them.

Ibuki became stressed, and the pressures put on her of people talking about her depression and the split up of her band became too much.

She ran away from home, and found her friend.

She was wrapped up in despair until she met him. 

Her saviour, her knight in shining armour.

She sobbed as she apologised for losing contact with him. He hugged her tight and told her 'it's okay'.

He loved her, and she loved him. He said his name was Byakuya Twogami. At least she had her happy ending.

They lived with his parents, and Ibuki shared his bed, being too terrified to sleep away from him.

 

When a kind woman showed up at their doorsteps and promised them a better life with children as troubled as they were, they were inclined to accept.

They all ended up in Hope's Peak Home for Troubled Children.

And they couldn't be happier.

 


End file.
